


all i know (is i cannot pretend)

by ivermectin



Series: gossip girl metafic [3]
Category: Gossip Girl (TV 2007), Inside - Dan Humphrey
Genre: F/M, PWP, clair calls the shots, dylan POV makes it seem inherently dom/sub though, it's a sex scene!! it's a dan humphrey original piece of erotica!, mildest of mild dom/sub vibes, on second thought idk if the d/s is really THAT mild, the sex act in here is relatively vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivermectin/pseuds/ivermectin
Summary: “A man will say anything if that’ll get him laid, won’t he, Hunter?” Clair snipes back. But my shirt, crumpled on the floor, is a testament to how well this is working.
Relationships: Dan Humphrey/Blair Waldorf (implied), Dylan Hunter/Clair Carlyle
Series: gossip girl metafic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096118
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	all i know (is i cannot pretend)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist writing this. Like the first piece in this series, the title is from "The Outsider" by Marina and the Diamonds.  
> there's more about my narrative choices in the end note - I was going to put that here, but it felt a bit too spoilery, so I figured it probs makes more sense to read if you've read the fic first, hence.

Clair scrapes at my chest with her perfectly manicured nails, leaving goosebumps in a soft trail. “Dylan,” she says, almost reverently. On my lap, curled around me, she is not girly evil as much as she is just a girl, here with me despite everything.

“Clair,” I rasp, heavy, her name like a bullet in the warmth of my mouth. _I love her_ , I think, but I know she doesn’t want to hear it. Still, it does not matter; she’s popping open my shirt, her hands pressing against my chest.

The only person who’s ever gotten me like this under her and completely in awe is Sabrina, and everyone knows how that ended. This doesn’t feel like that in the slightest, however; Clair’s forceful in a way Sabrina isn’t, her touch methodical and deliberate, like she knows what she wants and isn’t going to stop at anything to get it.

She puts her mouth to my neck, warm and wet, sucks a spot on the side of it exactly where I’m sensitive. I say her name again, pleading, almost like it’s a prayer, and she smirks up at me, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders, grounding me. She bites, not hard enough to hurt, just a reminder that she calls the shots. She always calls the shots.

I like it.

My hand comes to rest on her thigh, fingers fumbling at the garters she wears, and in another lifetime maybe I’d joke about it, about the garters and the aesthetic of her clothes, but all I can do in the moment is say to her, numbed by lust, “You’re lovely.”

“A man will say anything if that’ll get him laid, won’t he, Hunter?” Clair snipes back. But my shirt, crumpled on the floor, is a testament to how well this is working.

She undoes the zip on my jeans, pulls them down but not entirely, hasty and hurried as if our time together is severely limited. She presses our hips together, grinding against me with deliberation, and takes my hands in hers, guiding them to the swell of her breasts, pressing them against her brasserie.

“I’m not made of glass,” she hisses, her knees pressing against me with the force of being stabbed, fierce points of movement and action. “Do you really expect me to do all the work?”

“Do I look like I know what a woman wants?” I ask her sardonically, but I oblige anyway, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, placing open mouthed and wet kisses to her breasts. “Clair, we both know that this would be a lot more satisfying for you and me both if you take charge.”

A wicked gleam comes into her eye, and she quickly and efficiently divests both herself and me of our undergarments. She’s more efficient with her clothes than with mine, my jeans and boxers pooled around my ankles like shackles while she sits there, bare-legged, wearing nothing but a corset that she’s pushed aside ever-so-slightly, giving me a cinematic view of her chest.

I swallow, the noise loud in the empty room, and she pushes me. The back of the chair shifts, and I thank my lucky stars that we chose a flexible chair to do this on. She trails her fingertips across my hipbones and my inner thighs, deliberately teasing, knowing what I want and denying it to me, revelling in my obvious frustration.

“Clair,” I hiss. It feels like, in that moment, I have never wanted anyone else.

“Dy-lan,” she says, sing-song, unconcerned. She puts one of her hands around my hard length, curling her fingers around it, but not moving her hand. Her other hand finds my chin, and she angles my face so that we’re looking straight at each other, eyes meeting.

I swallow again, feeling like I am being carefully unravelled, like every single part of me is being carefully pulled out of shadow and into light, one piece at a time.

“You gonna move your hand anytime soon?” I ask. My voice is impossibly soft.

She does with a little laugh, expertly getting the rhythm right. With her other hand, she guides my hands to the wet warmth between her legs, positioning herself the way she sees fit. After barely ten seconds of this, she lowers herself onto me, and it’s sappy and romantic and embarrassing, but all I can think of is how perfectly our bodies fit together, how I feel crushed between her body and the chair but at the same time, like this is the only thing holding me together.

She takes her hands, both of them damp, damp from the both of us, and puts them on my face. It ought to be degrading, I’ll think later, but the truth is nothing she can do to me or ever will do to me feels degrading. I’m too far gone, and this cannot possibly end well for me. I lick at her fingers with clear intention. A promise for the future, if she ever looks my way again, a guarantee that I can pleasure her properly with my mouth. Once I’ve sucked her fingers clean, she drags her hand, wet with my saliva, across my cheekbones, as if examining the shape of my face.

I like to think she’s memorizing me.

I bury my face in her neck, nosing at the skin behind her ear, aware of the way she smells, like lavender and rose and something else, something undefinably _her_. Her hands curl in my hair, scratching at my scalp, pulling ever so lightly at my curls.

“Dylan,” she says again, singing it teasingly, provokingly, sexily. “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.”

“Clair,” I try to say to match, but I’m too out of it to get the tone right. It sounds like her name’s being dragged from me, from the deepest pit of me. “Clair, Clair, Clair.”

When she comes, it’s with a soft moan that I’ll remember always, the sort of noise that is reverent and to be cherished because of its unexpectedness. I remember the first time I heard her laugh, the first time she smiled at me, the way she can be so relentless and fierce but when she wants to, she can channel all that power into something exquisite and inexplicably tender.

When I come, it feels like sticking a finger into an electric socket. I groan, shaking, burying my face in her shoulder.

She comes back to herself faster than I do, puts her clothes back on, fixes everything so perfectly that you couldn’t tell by looking at her that she’s just had sex. She’s looking at me, considering something. I know her well enough to know that it’s possible she’ll just leave me here like this for the laughs; exposed, indecent and starstruck.

I love her deeply enough that instead of being angered by this, I’d just love her more if she did that to me.

She decides against it though, doing my shirt, and fixing the collar, and telling me to pull up my pants, saying mockingly, “You’re a big enough boy to handle it yourself, Hunter.”

I know well enough that the sand in the hourglass has run out, that it doesn’t matter how good this moment was; I will not be granted another.

“Clair,” I say, impossibly ruined, eternally damned.

“Dyl,” she says, and it’s strange, how I don’t mind the absurd nickname when it’s coming from her. “Before I leave, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Oh?”

I try not to have hope, even as I zip my jeans and sit back in the chair, trying not to think about how desperately I need to wash my face, knowing that whatever she says, my life will never be the same now, now that I know what she looks like naked, what she sounds like when she comes.

Clair smiles, a smile that’s pleasant in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes, a smile that says, _I know your secret and I have power over you now._ I should feel threatened, but the idea of her threatening me only sends another shot of arousal down my spine.

“Are you a submissive, Hunter?” she asks, laughing, as she leaves.

I swallow, thinking about all my exes, thinking about all the people I’ve wanted but never gotten to be with, thinking about all the sexual curiosities I’ve never fulfilled.

“Depends on who’s asking,” I say to the empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> The decision to write a sex scene of _this_ nature is influenced by a variety of things. Dan mentions that he didn't write anything bad about Blair in his book, so I figured it'd make sense if, objectively, the fictional sex scene being made public is more embarrassing for him than it is for her. At the same time, it needed to be extremely intense if it made Louis, Blair's actual fiance, jealous/insecure. I wanted this to be - raw and awkward and _wanting_ , because of well, Dan in general just being Dan. and the vibe of ~~Blair~~ Clair calling the shots needed to be... there, but not hardcore, because I'm imagining that he's still coming to terms with not just how deeply he wants Blair, but also with what he wants their relationship to really be like. And yeah, the doomed inevitability that comes with it - the knowledge that it doesn't matter what he can give her, she still won't stay with him - that comes from canon Dan stuff esp @ that point in the dair arc, too. 
> 
> Just felt the need to say this, in case anyone was curious :'))


End file.
